


Survivor's Guilt

by gandalfthesassy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, Mad King, TLR, Ten Little Roosters, Ten Little Roosters AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gandalfthesassy/pseuds/gandalfthesassy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It'd been six months since "Ten Little Roosters", and recovery hadn't gone as smoothly as Ryan had hoped it would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivor's Guilt

Grifball.

_You know I actually die in Red vs. Blue, right?_

Bow and arrow.

_One was martyred, and then there were seven..._

Edgar.

_Why'd you put yourself in a hole?_

God.

_No, it's me, Adam._

_...this is things to do while trapped in a hole while slowly dying of oxygen starvation!_

_Fuck you, hole. I have opposable thumbs._

_What are you looking at? Stop pointing at me!_

_I'm on a murder break._

"I'm on a murder break!"

Ryan shot up, gasping for air. He felt around his torso for any injuries.

A dream. It was just a dream. But not all of it, not the deaths, not the hole, not...

The killer.

He could still remember the coke can. He hadn't touched one in six months - not since the incident that the cops had dubbed "Ten Little Roosters".

Ryan Haywood was on a murder break.

But the killer wasn't.

"Fuck," he murmured, tears streaming down his face. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep his voice down, but he couldn't help the tears. He wept for his friends and coworkers, all whom had died.

And he had killed the killer in a final act of self-defense. He ended his murder break. The thoughts crept over him, darkening his recollection of the events that had transpired.

He had to talk to someone.

You woke to the sound of someone stabbing their toe and cursing under their breath.

"Ryan?" you sat up slowly in the guest bed, rubbing your eyes. He patted his way to the edge of the bed and sat down. Your name tumbled off his lips as he began to cry, and you could tell from the sound of his weeping that it wasn't the first breakdown that night. You scooted forward and embraced him as he cried, trembling even in your warm embrace. You rested your chin on his shoulder. When his crying lessened and he seemed to breathe slower, you spoke softly. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah," was the only word he could conjure, and in it he carried the guilt of someone put in a desperate situation who acted according to survival instict.

"I'm not a therapist," you began quietly, without a trace of jest, "but I know that what you went through was horrible. No one should have to make that decision. I don't know any more than what I've heard on the radio, but I believe that you're alive purely by chance." You felt him turn his face to you in confusion. "You've told me before that you believe you shouldn't be alive. I don't think that's how I'd put it. If you try and be logical about it, you had as much chance to die as anyone else. But you didn't. And that's weird and fucked up that they didn't survive. It's not fair," you realized that you were gripping Ryan for dear life. Embarrassed, you let go and drew into yourself. "I don't know much of anything, but I know that I don't hate you like people seem to."

"I killed Barbara," he murmured. "I didn't stab her or anything, but she's dead because of me." 

"You did," you agreed. "And you survived, and you told your story. And people actually believed you. At least, I did."

In the faint light from your computer power cord, you saw him smile sadly. "You never told me any of that before."

"Well, that's sleepy me for you," you joked, chuckling in embarrassment. His hand found yours and gripped it.

"You've been really patient with me through all of this. Seriously, I can't thank you enough. You stayed with me even when I was ready to give up."

"I'm no doctor, but trauma sticks with you. I'm not gonna pretend like you're going to be perfect in the future. You never were, but that's probably a good thing. I don't think I could fall in love with perfection."

A moment of silence passed between you, underscored only by the hum of the heater. "Did you say something about falling in love with me?" Your heart pounded. You did say that. How could you say that?

"What-what I meant to say was, I understand that what happened changed you, but you've done really well, and it's a process, so..." You trailed off. You felt Ryan's breath float against your lips and his free hand cradle the back of your neck. "If I didn't know better," you stammered, "I'd think you were about to snap my neck."

"Not in a million years." His lips met yours, and unlike the unfortunate time when he drunkenly kissed you at a company party, this one melted on your lips and stayed longer than you knew you wanted. Just as suddenly as he'd kissed you, he pulled away, a pained look on his face. "Oh my god."

"What's wrong?"

He stroked your face. "This isn't a dream. You're still alive, right?"

You nodded. "I may be dead in your dreams, but you're awake. And I'm awake, and I'm in love with you, and I know that you're frightened by all of this, and I kind of understand it in a way, but not in the same way because I can't really know--"

"(y/n)," Ryan touched his forehead to yours. You silently cursed the low lighting for preventing your seeing his eyes. You could feel his gaze completely on you. "(y/n), oh my god, stay," he pleaded softly, embracing you tightly, trembling. You'd seen him drunk, you'd seen him after heartbreak, and you'd seen him high on cough medicine. But you'd never had Ryan Haywood ask you for help. "Please stay, most everyone I care for leaves me."

"If anyone does," you insist, hugging back with equal intensity, "it's nothing about you. You are wonderful, Ryan, and whether or not you like me back, I'll do what I can to keep anyone else from harming you!"

He laughs through a final burst of sadness. "You don't have to do that, you know. I can protect myself."

"I insist," you moved back slightly to look him in the eyes (well, sort of, in such low lighting). "I'll conquer any human being who dares raise a finger to the Mad King!" He laughed again, this time with more happiness.

"The Mad King can take care of himself, thank you very much."

"Shut up, Ryan," you mock hissed at him, "I'm trying to make you lose your shit." As you went on and on, he shook with a round of laughter. At last, he got to the stage of laughing that creates tears. He wiped them away and pleaded, through joyous laughter, to take a break.

"Either I'm loopy from lack of sleep, or I'm madly in love with you, but you're hilarious," he admitted.

"Madly in love? As in, Mad King? In love?" A hopeful pause. Upon hearing Ryan's snort of unintentional approval, you giggled. "Yeah, you should go back to bed."

"Actually, (y/n)," he took your hand again, "I was wondering if I could sleep with you tonight. Not-not in the sexual way, but, uh, I mean, I think I'll sleep better if I'm next to you. Maybe?" Even in the low light, you saw the pink dusting across his cheeks. If you'd had just a touch less common sense, you would've giggled. Instead, you smiled.

"Yeah, sure. As long as you don't hog the blankets."

"No guarantees," he left as a disclaimer while he climbed to the other side of bed and got under the covers. He faced the ceiling. You draped an arm over him. As soon as you did, he turned away, but he shifted so his back pressed into your chest. Moments later, he dozed off.

 _So Ryan's a little spoon,_ was your last thought before you drifted off to sleep.


End file.
